The Curious Case of the Four Missing Coats
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: After TLTWATW. The Macready wants to know why there are four fur coats missing from the wardrobe in the spare room downstairs. The Professor, exchanging a twinkle in his eye with the four Pevensie children, tells her that the coats /are/ still in that wardrobe.


**_Soli Deo gloria_**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the Chronicles of Narnia. This little fic popped into my mind as I'm reading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, where they're discussing about whether or not wearing the fur coats in the wardrobe was considered 'boxing' them or not.**

Mrs. Macready was in a great uproar, and everyone in the great house knew it at once. She was on the prowl, upending the entire house in a grand spring cleaning. The Pevensies and even the master of the house deemed it wise to stay quite clear of her stomping, trampling path. All week long she issued out executive orders to the maids about moving furniture and beating carpets and dusting where no one else sees. It seemed an endless task, given the innumerable collection of spare rooms and absurd count of portraits with their frames all wreathed in dust. Therefore, all week, whenever one heard the sharp voice and the quick step, one would warn the others to flee, and a great exodus would issue out of the room before the Macready could pounce in on them.

The Professor, at least, was a great comfort in all this. After their return from Narnia, the children found themselves discussing it in whispered tones. Always aware of what they must be whispering about, the Professor would introduce his own interest in their conversations. They'd exchange looks between themselves, but then tread lightly, but hopefully, as they spoke of such great happenings such as the sacrifice of Aslan and the vanquishing of the White Witch and Cair Paravel. Instead of deeming them mad, the Professor gloried in these great happenings, almost as if he had a personal interest in the goings-on. Despite being a grown-up, he was terribly practical and surprising.

So, with the Professor a conspirator among them, the children looked at him knowingly when at tea one day during spring cleaning week, the Macready stormed in with a thorn in her side and a bone to pick. She put herself fully upon the Professor, though her words, like venomous strikes of a sword, were struck distinctly at the children. "Professor Kirke, I have some terrible goings-on to report."

The Professor kept on chewing his bite of marmalade on toast. Then he stirred his tea 'round. He then said, "Mrs. Macready, whatever can it be?"

"I have gotten to the spare room with the wardrobe in it. I've been taking inventory of the coats while the maids are cleaning out the old wardrobe. I'm to press and air out all that fur. They simply reek of mothballs."

"Ah, those coats. They were gifts from my uncle Andrew Ketterley. Always was a little cruel to animals, but they were such nice gifts from when he'd mellowed, I kept them. Off in that wardrobe, of course, out of sight. Felt bad to throw them away, but didn't want to wear them. So, whatever about them?"

"Well, Professor, as I was taking inventory, I was mortified to find that there are four coats missing."

The Professor and the Macready each threw a look at the children, who all stopped their forks and spoons in mid-air. The Macready had a vulture's look in her eye; the Professor had a twinkle in his eye, as if he was sharing in a secret with the children that the Macready knew nothing about. Which, of course, was exactly what he was doing. "My goodness, what a thing to discover. Have you looked in all the downstairs closets or the whatnots or the storage rooms or the attic? They could be . . . anywhere," said the Professor lightly.

"I have conducted a most stringent search, and have found nothing. They are simply _gone_ ," the Macready said. She shot evil eyes at the children. " _Someone_ has taken them."

The Macready meant to accuse the children, but as grown-ups often do, she didn't accuse them outright. She simply insinuated that it was the children.

She was not entirely wrong. Peter and Susan exchanged a look. While they were the culprits, they hadn't done anything wrong. Those four missing fur coats were still in the wardrobe. The Professor said this exact thing to the Macready. "I have no doubt that they're still in the wardrobe, somewhere."

The Macready flushed a dark red. She did not like to think that her employer was teasing her, but she felt awfully misunderstood and made a fool. "I have no doubt that every inch of that wardrobe has been searched, and those four coats are nowhere to be found. They have disappeared. Fur coats do not walk, so we must assume that _someone_ took them."

"And who is the someone you seem to be referring to, Mrs. Macready?" The Professor wished to know.

The Macready drew herself up to her full height. "I am not pointing fingers, you understand, Professor, but before we took in youths from the city, we did _not_ have missing coats."

Edmund, crumbs on his face, looked miserable as he looked at Lucy. While the plan had already been set for them all to be off to some boarding schools next fall, would the Macready be able to persuade the Professor to send them away from the great house sooner?

Lucy looked reassured rather than guilty. She knew that the Professor was one of them. He believed in her from the first. He would not, as some grown-ups and even some children do, betray them now.

"Oh, that would mean that you went to that spare room that we never go into and counted all the coats before they came? That is exactly what you did, Mrs. Macready?" the Professor said.

It wasn't wise to instigate the housekeeper, especially when she was already on a rampage, but the Professor knew that some things, like domestic peace and tranquility, must be sacrificed for the sake of protecting those falsely accused.

The Macready ruffled up like a perturbed rooster. "I did not, but I did not think it a thing I must have done. Excuse my housekeeping negligence." The Macready stalked out of the room, and Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy exchanged looks before looking at the Professor. All five knew that they would all have to take The Macready's insufferable wrath for the next week or so as punishment on them all—punishment on the children for no doubt being the thieves, and on the Professor, who thought it wise to protect them.

"She's right, though, Professor," Susan said. "We _did_ take the coats."

"We're the guilty ones, if they are any," Peter said. "Let us go and confess and get it over with."

"No, you won't," the Professor said, sedately buttering a piece of toast.

"But we _did_ take them," Lucy said. "We left them near Aslan's camp as the White Witch's winter melted away. They're lost there in Narnia."

"She's going to be in such a temper for so long," Edmund said miserably.

The Professor looked up at the worried faces calmly. "Are the coats still in the wardrobe?" he asked.

Again, Peter and Susan shared a look. "Well, yes," Susan said.

"Have they left the wardrobe at all?"

"No, sir," Peter said.

"Then they're still in the wardrobe. All the coats are in the wardrobe. They've never left. They're not stolen or boxed. They're still in there." That especial twinkle shone in the Professor's eye as he looked at the children, all looking more relieved by the second. "The Macready simply has not looked for them hard enough."

 **Thanks for reading! Review?**


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